


Enemy Mine

by WahlBuilder



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Blood, Death, M/M, Short, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6583150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has planned this. His twin's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enemy Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from [tumblr](http://kaimalak.tumblr.com/post/142943505145/a-thing-about-our-favourite-twins-ive-been).

It is over.  
Everything slows down, and despite the distance and moving, screaming, killing, dying bodies around them, he can see it clearly, with perfect clarity of certainty.  
It is over.  
He can’t move. His legs are heavy, his whole body is heavy, like it is him, there, sliding on the ground, limp, lifeless. _Less._  
He can’t scream. His voice has died in his throat, and something stops in his hearts — the sound, the memory of the sound, the knowledge how to produce sound.  
It is his own doing. He has planned this. He has ensured this would go just like he planned it. And it does go.  
He watches and watches and watches in eternal frozen moment his brother falling and never reaching the ground. Blood droplets in the air shaped into perfect spheres, too bright, like angry little stars.  
He watches, and in the small compartment of his armour, close to his silent hearts is a worn stuffed toy, a hydra, badly sewn and patched. Its three necks have changed their length countless times, its hide made of scraps of cloth has been green and azure and celadon and blue and teal and cyan and emerald and the split tail is thin and faded from being chewed and fidgeted with and twirled.  
He watches as not his brother but he himself is falling and never reaching the ground.  
His mouth goes dry. He wants to catch the droplets of blood, taste it again, share the pain — anything to fill the void inside. Anything to be whole again.  
_Greedy as ever. I missed you, too, always._  
He cries out and rushes forward. He must catch the falling body, cradle him to his chest—  
He is stopped. For a moment, he almost strikes, who dares to stop him when _his soul is dying there_ —  
‘Fall back. We are leaving.’ The words sound distant to him even though it is his voice that makes them into life. The systems of his armour remove excess moisture from his skin, flowing down his face, his neck.  
'Stick to the plan. We are leaving, for now.’  
  
_I will watch our sons’ faces and see the mirrors of you, but they will never be my mirror. I will see you in them, but they will never be you.  
And I will remember that it was I who did it. Out of necessity, out of duty — out of love._


End file.
